


What We're Leaving Out

by kutubiyya



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I don't really know how it happened, Injury Recovery, M/M, Screenplay/Script Format, Stress, boys on tour, sort of, transcript, video diary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 20:00:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4718648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kutubiyya/pseuds/kutubiyya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After several months out recovering from a knee operation, Stuart returns to the England squad for a tour of Australia. In his quest to make sure Stuart settles back in, Steve starts making a (sort of, kind of) video diary. But however much he tries to keep things light and cheerful, it soon becomes apparent that there's more going on with Stuart than Steve wants to admit.</p><p>A loose follow-up to my earlier Brinn fic, <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3351530">'An Hour Behind the Summer'</a>.</p><p>(Australia/England/India ODI tri-series; Canberra, Sydney, Brisbane, Hobart, and Perth, January 2015)</p>
            </blockquote>





	What We're Leaving Out

**Author's Note:**

> The following fic is sort of an unholy hybrid of transcript and screenplay. For the most part, I've followed standard screenplay layout/formatting (although my HTML skills are limited, so I've centre-aligned all the character names and dialogue rather than indenting them properly). I've expanded the abbreviations ('int' for 'interior', etc) on first usage, for clarity. 'Beat' is a screenplay convention for a slight pause between two bits of dialogue.
> 
> I'll save most of my notes about sources for the end of the fic, but here's one essential visual reference: [Broady's haircut](http://kutubiyya.tumblr.com/post/107243038612/plumjaffas-omgbroady-omgbroady-needs-a-hug). Also, for the benefit of anyone who's ended up here through tags, and doesn't know who Stuart and Steve are, [here they are being cute and pretty](http://kutubiyya.tumblr.com/post/97831545852/these-two-are-too-adorable) \- Steve is the one standing (having stolen Broady's shirt), and Stuart is sitting.
> 
> Thanks to [labonnetouche](http://archiveofourown.org/users/labonnetouche/pseuds/labonnetouche) for talking this over with me (and for inspiring Woakes' sugar bowl comment with one of her tags) <3
> 
> I've never been to Australia (alas), so my location scouting was done purely via google earth and Trip Advisor. Please do let me know if I've made any howlers, and I shall correct :)
> 
> Last thing: there is a very brief reference to Phil Hughes' accident towards the end. Just wanted to warn you.
> 
> Okay, enough procrastination. On with the show...

_I can’t make you hang around_  
_I can’t wash you off my skin_  
_Outside the frame_  
_Is what we’re leaving out_  
_You won’t remember anyway_  
\--Queens of the Stone Age, ‘Go With the Flow’  
([full lyrics](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/queensofthestoneage/gowiththeflow.html); [video](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DcHKOC64KnE))

 

**INTERIOR. HOTEL BAR, CANBERRA – EVENING**

The England cricket team, minus STUART BROAD, have the bar to themselves. Visible from the camera’s position are five low, glass-topped coffee tables, each flanked by a pair of white, two-seater sofas, on which besuited cricketers slouch, yawning and red-eyed. The sofas, which are adorned with amber velvet cushions, look like they were probably pristine before their arrival. The floor is creamy marble, polished to a high shine. A solitary waitress stands behind the counter of the bar, checking through a handful of receipts.

In the mirror behind the bar, we can just about see the reflection of a tall figure, face obscured by the phone he is holding up; this is STEVEN FINN, and he is the one filming the scene.

STEVE  
Welcome to Australia. Again.

CUT TO:

Close-up, from a high angle, of EOIN MORGAN. His reddish hair sticks up in tufts, and he has his head tilted back sharply to look up at a point just above the camera lens – presumably the now-unseen Steve.

STEVE (off screen)  
Had a good flight, Morgs?

EOIN  
Not really. You snore.  
_(sighs)_  
Sooner everything’s sorted and we can get to bed, the better—

The image jumps slightly, as if there’s been an edit.

STEVE (O.S.)  
So, what are your thoughts on Broady being back with us?

EOIN  
Yeah, you know, it’s great to have him in the squad, he’s one of our key bowlers for this tri-series  
ahead of the World Cup campaign—

STEVE (O.S.)  
This isn’t, like, an official video or anything. It’s just for Stu. You don’t have to do the captain thing.  
_(mock earnest)_  
Tell me your  real feelings.

EOIN  
Augh, god, that guy? Can’t stand him.

CUT TO:

Similar high angle on another table, from four or five feet away this time. Well-built CHRIS JORDAN (C.J.) and slender, bearded MOEEN ALI make for a contrasting pair, sitting close to each other on one sofa; C.J. has the top two buttons of his shirt undone, revealing a gold chain around his neck. RAVI BOPARA is sitting across from them, with puffy eyes half-closed, shoes off, and legs stretched out over the armrest. He has a tablet on his lap; the screen is dark.

STEVE (O.S.)  
What about you guys? Quick message for Stuart?

MOEEN  
Can’t we just tell him in person when he gets back from the loo, or wherever he’s gone?

STEVE (O.S.)  
I want it to be a surprise.

C.J.  
_(waves, grinning)_  
Fast bowlers’ union, Broady! Great to have you back.

RAVI  
_(yawning)_  
Yeah, brilliant news. Really admire how hard you’ve worked to get fit again after the op, mate.  
And after what happened last summer, too. Wow. Respect.

MOEEN  
Oh, yeah, that was awful. Can’t imagine what it must’ve been li—

CUT TO:

A close-up, in portrait, of JAMES TAYLOR (TITCH). He is perching on the edge of a sofa, perhaps because if he sat any further back, his feet might not reach the ground. The camera sinks down slowly, until it is almost level with his face. Titch fidgets in his suit, pulling repeatedly at the sleeves as he talks, as if he’s not quite comfortable.

TITCH  
I love playing with Broady. And it’s always good to have a fellow Notts player in the squad,  
obviously. I mean, we almost…  
_(glancing to his right)_  
…almost outnumber the Yorkshiremen now.

ALEX HALES – taller, dark hair cropped very short, suit jacket looking like it might have spent the flight screwed into a ball – dives into the shot, from Titch’s right.

HALES  
Woo!

Hales lands sprawling across Titch’s lap. Hales makes a ‘V’ for victory sign to the camera.

HALES (cont’d)  
Outlaws represent!

TITCH  
_(snorts)_  
And you can see exactly why the selectors would pick us, can’t you?

Titch pats Hales on the head, sarcastically. Hales twists round to grin up at him.

CUT TO:

Full-length shot of JAMES ANDERSON (JIMMY), who looks immaculate, save for a light dusting of stubble along his jaw. He has his legs crossed, the ankle of one leg poised on the knee of the other, and the pressed lines of his suit look sharp enough to slice paper. His dark hair is clipped very short at the sides and set in a smooth quiff on top. He is alone on his sofa, one arm stretched across the back of it. A half-empty glass of water is just visible on the table in front of him.

JIMMY  
You know I’ve just come back from injury, as well?

STEVE (O.S.)  
Yeah, but you’re not my boyfriend.

JIMMY  
And I cry myself to sleep every night over that.

STEVE (O.S.)  
So, are you glad to have your new ball partner back?

JIMMY  
_(shrugs)_  
If I enticed you away from Broady, would you make  me a video, instead?

STEVE (O.S.)  
Aw, you old charmer.

JIMMY  
Hey, less of the old.

Another edit jump. We are still focused on Jimmy, but we now see him from a lower angle – as if Steve is sitting down opposite him, perhaps – and he is closer to the left-hand side of the frame. His expression has gone from being cheerful to something rather gloomier.

JIMMY  
…that out.

STEVE (O.S.)  
So how is he?

JIMMY  
_(looks away)_  
What do  you think?  
_(beat)_  
I mean it, stop filming me.

CUT TO:

Medium shot of a bemused-looking GARY BALLANCE sitting at the opposite end of a sofa from CHRIS WOAKES, who is smiling but bleary-eyed. Both have shed their suit jackets, and are flushed in the heat – Chris especially. Chris is holding what looks like a cup of tea.

CHRIS  
Hi, Broady! Personally I can’t wait for the first time I misfield off one of your deliveries, and you  
do that teapot pose at me. Or sugar bowl pose.

GARY  
Yeah, I always loved that. Seriously, though, fantastic to have you back; we’ve missed you. Just try  
to hit the ball with your bat, this time, not y—

CUT TO:

Jimmy, same position as before.

JIMMY  
Okay, okay. I’ve got something to say.  
_(looking into camera, unsmiling)_  
Broady. Mate. What’ve you done to your  hair?

CUT TO:

Eoin, same position as before but now with his shirt sleeves rolled up.

EOIN  
Yeah, I’m a bit sceptical about the hair.

CUT TO:

Titch and Hales, side by side.

TITCH  
His hair? It’s… you know…  
_(looks at Hales)_  
…it’s not the  worst haircut in the squad.

CUT TO:

Close-up on Moeen, holding up a handful of glossy black beard.

MOEEN  
You’re asking me for my opinions on shaving?  
_(grins)_  
At first I thought it was, you know, like a fast bowler thing. CJ told me  he keeps his hair  
short because it makes him more aerodynamic. Though now that I’ve said that out loud, and  
I can hear him laughing at me… I think maybe he was winding me up.

CUT TO:

Medium shot of JAMES TREDWELL, who we can now see is sitting across from Titch and Hales. He pats his almost bald head, and grins a toothy grin.

JAMES  
I don’t know what everyone’s getting so excited about. Having no hair in this heat is a definite  
plus. But don’t forget the sun block on your scalp, Broady. I did, once, and… it wasn’t pretty.

CUT TO:

Hales hitting Titch repeatedly with a cushion. Titch is red-faced and laughing breathlessly.

CUT TO:

JIMMY  
I mean… it’s just… he really doesn’t have the right shape of head to pull it off.

CUT TO:

Close-up on the blue-eyed pair JOE ROOT and JOS BUTTLER. Jos is smiling faintly, looking down at his lap; Joe, skinnier and not quite so dimpled, is crowding into Jos, apparently in an effort to fit in the frame.

JOE  
Broady used to have lovely hair. I was a bit jealous of it, actually. Not anymore.

JOS  
I think Broady can— Wait, I’m supposed to be talking to him, right? Not about him.  
Okay. Broady: you have whatever hairstyle you want. Ignore these people.

Joe drops his head onto Jos’ shoulder, and assumes a dreamy expression.

JOE  
It was so shiny. And it had lovely bounce. I liked to stroke it sometimes. Late at night, when  
no-one else was there. Do you remember those nights, Broady? I’d sneak in your room, when  
you were asleep, and—

Jos, laughing, pushes a hand over Joe’s face.

CUT TO:

IAN BELL, sandy-haired, heavily freckled, and texting rapidly as he talks.

IAN  
Broady can be a bit sensitive about his hair. One time, back in his long hair days, I bought this  
blond wig. Kept it in my kitbag for about three Tests, waiting for the right moment, until one day  
he fell asleep on a bench in the dressing room after lunch. I chopped a load of the hair off the  
wig and scattered it around his head, then ‘accidentally’ woke him up while I was standing next  
to him with the scissors. He took one look at all the hair lying next to him and went berserk.  
Apparently you could hear his screams in the opposition dressing room.

JOE (O.S.)  
God! Wish I’d…

Whip-pan to right, where Joe is sitting up, grinning, hanging over the back of his own sofa to shout over at Ian. Jimmy is visible behind him; he is sitting across from Joe and Jos.

JOE (cont’d)  
…thought of that. Be a great one to play on Jimmy.

JIMMY  
_(sniffs)_  
Try it, and I’ll throw you out the window.

CUT TO:

Jimmy, seen in profile; Dutch angle, out of focus. He is talking to someone out of shot, and his voice is only just audible.

JIMMY  
—done a Britney. It’s a cry for help, I’m telling you.

Some way behind him, another tall, suited figure can be seen entering the room: STUART BROAD. The images blurs, and the screen goes dark, then we

CUT TO:

 

**INT. STEVE’S HOTEL ROOM, CANBERRA – EVENING**

Extreme close-up of Steve’s face, briefly, leaning over the screen. His hair is damp. He steps back, frowns for a moment at the camera.

STEVE  
Okay, I think that’s stable now.  
_(beat)_  
Hopefully that’s not famous last words.

He walks over to his bed, about five feet away. The bed is made; it is difficult to make out the colours of the print bedspread in the low light of what looks to be a single overhead lamp. Steve sits, legs spread, one hand braced beside him; the other dips and waves and flutters as he speaks. The overhead light makes hollows of his eyes, and picks out his cheekbones; his nose casts a long shadow down over his mouth and chin. There is a long, tall window behind him; the heavy curtains are drawn, and some light escapes around the edges of them, as if it is not quite dark outside.

STEVE (cont’d)  
So. Uh. Hi. This is Steve, in Canberra, in the room next door to yours, on January the… tenth.

He holds up a palm, briefly, towards the camera.

STEVE (cont’d)  
So I’ve just been editing together some of the comments from the guys, because I’m starting  
to run out of storage space on my phone and needed to delete some stuff, and I thought I should  
probably just, like, explain what this is. For when you watch it.  
_(clears throat)_  
Basically, after… you know. Well. The knee operation and things. You’ve had a long break and  
I thought you might like a reminder of what a bunch of idiots we are. So here you go. We’re  
all excited to have you back with us.  
_(looking down; smiling, bashfully)_  
Especially me. Obviously.  
_(beat)_  
Anyway, so I got a bit carried away and I’ve filmed loads of stuff. What you’ve just seen, assuming  
everything worked right, was all from the day we arrived, and I’ve got more from after that, as you’ll  
see in a minute. It’s taking me a bit longer to put it together than I thought it would, because I was  
going to ask one of the ECB’s video guys, only I caught a couple of things on camera that the  
bosses don’t really need to know, like, uh, me calling you my boyfriend, and some other stuff I’ve  
edited out now. But it’s meant I’ve had to do it myself, which meant reading up online about all  
these apps, and… Anyway. Anyway. Here it is. Or will be. When it’s done.

CUT TO:

 

**EXTERIOR. BATEMAN’S BAY, NEAR CANBERRA – NIGHT**

A blur of yellow and pink gradually resolves into a half-circle light: the sun dipping down below a hilly horizon. The sky around it – darkening from salmon pink to purple nearer the top of the frame – is streaked with aircraft trails.

STEVE (O.S.)  
Here you go, Stu. Bit of southern hemisphere sunset for you, since you were too tired to come out tonight.

JIMMY (O.S.)  
Oi, Spielberg! Enough scene-setting!

The view blurs again – with motion, this time – as the camera swings through a half-circle turn. When it refocuses, we can see the England boys crowded together, waving at the camera. They are all barefoot in the sand; all but Moeen – who is standing off to one side, grinning – are wearing shorts, and several of them are shirtless. Hales is bouncing up and down near the back, his hands on Gary’s shoulders for support.

About thirty yards behind them all, small waves foam as they break on the shore. The sky here is darker, and the sea reflects this deeper blue, except when the waves, occasionally, catch the last of the sunlight.

EOIN  
On your marks. Get set…

They spread out a little, and assume a variety of vaguely on-their-marks poses.

STEVE (O.S.)  
Go!

A roar goes up, and they all tear away towards the water: some scrambling, some staggering, some not-so-accidentally stumbling into each other. Titch emerges from the scrum and streaks out in front. Several of the others yell, but no-one can catch him, and he splashes into the surf, arms raised, just ahead of a dive by Hales, who ends up face-down in what looks like three inches of water. Chris and Joe pile on top of Hales, then C.J. rolls over all three of them.

Jimmy swerves at the last minute, the arc of his run carrying him away from the pile-up, which is growing larger by the second; he slows to a jog, then stops and turns to watch the others, pushing back his hair and grinning broadly.

In the foreground, near the camera, Moeen can be seen applauding; the image shakes a little, and we can hear Steve (O.S.) laughing.

CUT TO:

 

**EXT. CRICKET NETS, CANBERRA – DAY**

A series of short clips of the England fast bowlers in the nets. No clip is more than five or six seconds long, and all are from the same low-angle vantage point, just off to the left near the top of the nets. The bowlers run in from behind the camera to make their deliveries; none of them, except occasionally Steve, show any sign of being aware of it.

All five bowlers are sweating under the glaring sun, but whereas Steve, Jimmy, C.J. and Chris can be seen smiling as they turn away from the stumps, or standing in the background applauding or nodding or calling out (inaudible) comments to each other, shaven-headed Stuart is invariably staring at the ground as he trudges back out of shot, and never says a word.

CUT TO:

 

**INT. STEVE’S HOTEL ROOM, CANBERRA – EVENING**

As before.

STEVE  
Okay, that last bit of footage wasn’t as cheerful as I thought it was going to be. But maybe it confirms—

The image of Steve flickers, although the frame stays still, suggesting another edit. In an eyeblink, he goes from sitting with both feet on the ground to having one foot pulled up on the bed, knee tucked against his chest, hands around his ankle.

STEVE (cont’d)  
Stu, if I’m honest… I’m worried about you. And god knows why I’m telling this to my phone, and not you.  
_(clears throat)_  
Anyway. Hopefully I can get this finished before we go to Sydney.

CUT TO:

 

**EXT. SYDNEY CRICKET GROUND – DAY**

Shaky, grainy image of a tall, lanky figure walking across the outfield in a sky blue t-shirt and navy tracksuit bottoms: Stuart. He is padded up, has his helmet on, and carries his bat down by his side; his face cannot be seen. The camera zooms in further, trying to stay with him as he gets closer to the wicket, but the distance only exaggerates the effect of every tremble in the hand holding it.

Stuart takes up position at the non-striker’s end, and the camera stays trained on him. There is a green and gold blur as the bowler flashes past him. A muted cheer goes up from the crowd; there is much warmer applause from near to the camera.

VOICE (O.S.)  
Ha. Look at that. Another six!

The camera makes no effort to follow the ball, or move to the batsman (Eoin) who hit it; it remains on Stuart.

VOICE (O.S.)  
_(quietly)_  
Er… Finny.

The voice belongs to PAUL FARBRACE, assistant coach. The onscreen image blurs, abruptly, then settles on a full-screen, out-of-focus close-up of what looks to be grass.

PAUL (O.S.)  
Come on. You know the rules.

STEVE (O.S.)  
I know, but… he’s batting. Or he might be, if Morgs loses the strike. And I— I just…

PAUL (O.S.)  
_(sadly)_  
I know. I know. But no phones out here. And you’re the next man in! Here, I’ll help you finish  
padding up.

CUT TO:

 

**INT. AEROPLANE CABIN – DAY**

Low-angle medium shot of – from right to left – Jimmy, Steve and Stuart, sitting in a row on a brightly sunlit aeroplane, preparing to travel from Brisbane to Hobart. They fill most of the screen, but some movement can be seen in the aisle, behind them, and several open overhead compartments are visible across the way.

Jimmy and Steve are sitting close together and close to the camera, smiling; both of them are holding out an arm in the direction of the camera. Stuart is further away, his expression wary; not quite involved. All three look tired, their eyes swollen.

JIMMY  
Okay, fast bowlers’ union – smile.

Steve and Jimmy smile; Stuart does not.

STUART  
Since when do you smile?

JIMMY  
_(through an increasingly fixed smile)_  
Since we won a match by nine wickets inside thirty overs.

STUART  
Since you two and Belly and Titch won the match. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t even get the  
new ball.

STEVE  
_(turning to Stuart) _  
Nor did I. Get the new ball, I mean.__

STUART  
Yeah, but it’s different for you, you’re used to that.

STEVE  
_(looking down)_  
Oh. Right.

Awkward silence. Eventually, Stuart tucks a hand into the crook of Steve’s arm. Steve still does not look up.

STUART  
What I mean is… You got a five-fer. Jimmy got four. Mo got one. Then Belly and Titch skipped  
through the run chase. And I’m really pleased for you. I really am. It’s so great to have you back,  
after last year and everything.

Stuart gives Steve’s arm a squeeze, then slides his hand out, back into his own space.

STUART (cont’d)  
But I didn’t contribute. So I don’t deserve to be in the photo.

STEVE  
Everyone has off days—

STUART  
Stop trying to— If it was only an off day, that’d be fine.

JIMMY  
_(exasperatedly)_  
Just shut up and smile for your selfie, Broady.

STUART  
Why are we taking two selfies, anyway? Surely you don’t both need your cameras out.

STEVE  
_(subdued)_  
You know what, you’re right. Jimmy can take it.

CUT TO:

 

**INT. OUTSIDE STUART’S HOTEL ROOM, HOBART – NIGHT**

Steve knocks at a grey door bearing the number 327. He waits for over a minute, then knocks again. Finally, it opens, but only half way. Stuart’s eyes are shadowed, the skin under them dark like fading bruises.

STUART  
Not tonight. Sorry. I’m feeling a bit under the weather again. Probably won’t be much fun—

STEVE  
That’s fine.  
_(beat)_  
I mean… not that. I mean I’m not expecting you to entertain me or anything, I just want to  
check, after the match today, that you’re—

STUART  
I said, not tonight.

Door slams.

CUT TO:

 

**INT. STEVE’S HOTEL ROOM, HOBART – NIGHT**

A substantial-sized room, of which the dominant note is either grey or silver, depending on your perspective. What looks like a dining table is visible, with four chairs, and an enormous bed; the doors to the balcony are open, and floor-length gauzy curtains dance in the doorframe, caught in a breeze.

STEVE  
So it’s now the twenty-third – or actually the twenty-fourth, since it’s after midnight – and I still  
haven’t finished the editing. There’s so much to get through! I’ve got rid of a lot. I’ve had  
to. I can’t believe how many times Hales has mooned my camera. You’d think he’d get tired of  
it, but no. Anyway, hello from Hobart. Or bye from Hobart, since we're leaving in the morning.  
_(long pause)_  
Right. Here’s what I really want to tell you. Like I said back in Canberra… I’m worried about you.  
Really worried. I’m confessing this to the camera because you, well… you turned me away.  
Tonight, for the first time since the tour started, you wouldn’t let me in, and…  
_(beat)_  
Also, you’ve got my only pair of clean pyjamas in your room. I’m going to have to do some  
laundry, you bastard.  
_(smiling, weakly)_  
Okay, okay, you know I don’t really mind laundry, so that’s not a very good…  
_(bows head)_  
I’m sorry. I’m just… I want to help.

CUT TO:

 

**EXT. COTTESLOE BEACH, PERTH – DAY**

Wide-angle shot of pale, sun-baked sand – well-populated – and sparkling blue waves beyond. The camera closes in, slowly, on one figure standing in the shallows. Stuart has his hands on his hips and is facing out to sea; he is wearing dark blue, knee-length swimming shorts, which are wet, and clinging to his thighs.

EOIN (O.S.)  
Has it occurred to you that maybe you’re obsessed?

STEVE (O.S.)  
More than once. But, come on, he looks really good.

EOIN (O.S.)  
I didn’t mean Broady, I meant with the camera. But yeah, him too.  
_(beat)_  
I guess he’s all right, if you like that sort of thing. And apparently, contrary to all reason, you do.

Camera view veers abruptly to the left, and refocuses. Eoin is leaning back on a sun lounger, shaded by a large umbrella. He is wearing grey shorts, a plain white t-shirt, and sunglasses. His pale legs are stretched out in front of him, and his feet are bare.

STEVE (O.S.)  
Shouldn’t a captain be more supportive of his players?

EOIN  
I am being supportive. I’m also mocking. Supportiveness and mocking. It’s what I live for.

STEVE (O.S.)  
I hate you.

EOIN  
_(serenely)_  
No you don’t.

STEVE (O.S.)  
No, suppose not.

EOIN  
So. What’s gone wrong this time?

STEVE (O.S.)  
Who said anything was wrong?

EOIN  
You’ve been walking around for days with a face like someone ran over your puppy. And not  
just any puppy: your favourite puppy, the really adorable widdle golden retriever with those  
giant clumsy paws and the big, wide eyes—

STEVE (O.S.)  
_(muffled)_  
Leave me alone.

EOIN  
Not unless you tell me what’s up. Why do you think I came to sit over here?

STEVE (O.S.)  
For my company?

EOIN  
_(slaps a hand to his chest)_  
For  duty. Especially now Murts isn’t going to be here for the World Cup. I’ve got to look  
after you. He made me promise.

STEVE (O.S.)  
Okay, okay. Just stop comparing Stu to a puppy. Please. It’s really disturbing.

Eoin’s smile is smug.

EOIN  
Go on, then.

The picture jerks.

EOIN (cont’d)  
Don’t just shrug!

STEVE (O.S.)  
What are you, my mum?

EOIN  
Sometimes I wonder.

STEVE (O.S.)  
It’s just… Stu’s been… out of sorts. And he’s not taking wickets, and it’s obviously  
getting to him, and I know how that feels, but it’s just a rhythm thing, he’ll get it back, and…

EOIN  
It’s not just the wickets, is it?

STEVE (O.S.)  
_(quietly)_  
I don’t know what you mean.

CUT TO:

 

**INT. STEVE’S HOTEL ROOM, PERTH – NIGHT**

Close-up of Steve, filmed in portrait; the camera wobbles slightly, clearly hand-held. He is leaning back against a pile of very large white pillows, and appears to be lit by two different light sources.

STEVE  
Hi, imaginary Stu who isn’t watching this video because I still haven’t shown it to you.  
_(beat)_  
Maybe I’ll edit that bit out later. Anyway. I’ve lost track of how many of these I’ve done,  
but there hasn’t been one since we got to Perth. So, Perth. Not that you can easily tell,  
because it’s dark outside now, but here you go, anyway.

Camera rotates, briefly, to the left – a large picture window can be seen, curtains open to display the sparkling lights of the city – before returning to Steve.

STEVE (cont’d)  
So. You’re… apparently not talking to me at all now. I don’t know what to do. I want to be  
there. I want to help. More than anything else, I want to help.  
_(dropping head into hands)_  
God, Stu, I’m a mess. I’m a mess and I’m sitting here thinking about you alone in there  
tonight, and  I don’t know what to do.  
_(long pause)_  
It’s hard, isn’t it? This thing we do. Playing cricket on the world stage. It distorts everything.  
Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth the pressure. The risk.

CUT TO:

 

**INT. JIMMY’S HOTEL ROOM, PERTH – MORNING**

Similar style and layout to Steve’s, but as the door is opened to the camera – which is being held somewhere near waist height – it can be seen that the place is a mess. The table is piled with empty plates and water bottles, and the carpet is strewn with clothes. The bathroom door is open and the light in on.

Jimmy is dressed in a pair of loose cotton shorts, black, and a tighter, pale brown t-shirt. He has one hand up by his head, and appears to be holding the wave in his hair in place.

JIMMY  
_(frowning)_  
You look like you had a bad night. Or maybe a good one, I can’t tell. With the eyes, and the—

STEVE (O.S.)  
Have you got a minute?

JIMMY  
Well…

STEVE (O.S.)  
I really need to talk to someone. It’s about Stu.

JIMMY  
Okay.  
_(briskly)_  
Give me a minute. Hair’s at a delicate stage.

He steps aside, and goes into the bathroom, leaving the door open to the camera’s view. Various lotions and potions, including several tubs of hair gel, gleam on a broad marbled sink in front of a steamed-up mirror. A patch of the mirror near head height – Jimmy’s head, not Steve’s – has been wiped clear, and condensation drops have left multiple trails from the bottom of the cleared area, down to the sink.

The camera pans around the rest of the room, slowly. Under the window, between the bathroom and the bed, lies an open suitcase, out of which clothing seems to be erupting. The bedsheets look to have made a bid for freedom, and are stretched out across the floor, halfway to the window. The clothing on the floor is mixed up with several pairs of boots, at least two cricket bats, a couple of gift-wrapped presents, and multiple rolls of unravelling bandages.

STEVE (O.S.)  
How do you always look so well turned out, when you live in such a… state of chaos?

JIMMY (O.S.)  
_(muffled)_  
Sheer bloody hard work.

STEVE (O.S.)  
Are you anywhere near ready to go to training?

The camera pans back round to the bathroom door as he speaks. Jimmy shrugs.

JIMMY  
Will be by eleven. We’re starting at eleven, right?

The camera continues to pan.

STEVE (O.S.)  
Uh, yeah. I think.  
_(muttering)_  
I don’t know how anyone can  possibly… Oh, hey.

The image wobbles with Steve’s movement as he steps away from the bathroom, past the window, towards the bed.

STEVE (cont’d, O.S.)  
What’s this?

Jimmy pops his head out of the bathroom door. His voice, when he speaks, is clearer, and a little irritated. His hair still doesn’t look finished.

JIMMY  
What’s what?  
_(beat)_  
Nothing.

STEVE (O.S.)  
Doesn’t look like nothing.

The camera comes round, to show what Steve is looking at. A grey-blue box with a hinged lid, open, sits on the bedside table. Something gleams inside it, but the lens has yet to focus on it.

There are footsteps O.S., and a hand comes swiftly into shot from the right, grabbing the box. The camera turns, again, and tilts, taking in Jimmy, who has the box, and the window behind him. Jimmy is silhouetted.

JIMMY  
Just something I should’ve— Nothing.

He half-turns, and tosses the box across the room, towards the window. It lands in the open suitcase, disappearing from view amid the clothes. The camera holds on the suitcase until the next cut.

JIMMY (cont’d, O.S.)  
Wait… Are you still filming?

STEVE (O.S.)  
Uh, yeah.

JIMMY (O.S.)  
I thought it was supposed to be a welcome back present for Broady. We’ve been here  
three weeks.

STEVE (O.S.)  
I, uh… I was thinking of making it into a video diary thing instead. Or a documentary. You  
know, fly on the wall.

JIMMY (O.S.)  
_(beat)_  
Okay, first: you’re six-foot-seven and regularly fall over your own feet. You couldn’t be less  
fly-on-the-wall if you tried. Second: don’t think it’s really a documentary if you’re filming  
yourself talking to me about your boyfriend. Third: if you don’t edit out the last few minutes  
before you show it anyone else – and I do mean  anyone – I’ll hunt you down and kill you.

STEVE (O.S.)  
_(laughing)_  
Worried about the world seeing what you look like before your hair’s done?

JIMMY (O.S.)  
Something like that. Right, what’s up? Wait, hang on – turn that bloody camera off, first.

CUT TO:

 

**INT. STEVE’S HOTEL ROOM, PERTH – NIGHT**

As before, but this time the camera is static, and six feet or more from Steve, who is sitting with his back to the pillows and his arms wrapped around his knees.

STEVE  
So. Jimmy said— Oh. Yeah. I should start at the beginning.  
_(pushes hand through hair)_  
I spoke to Jimmy. About you. Not in a lot of detail, but… I know you probably wouldn’t want  
me to, and I know if you ever see this you’ll probably be annoyed with me, but I just really  
needed someone to talk to, and I know he knows you well, and… Sorry. I could just delete  
the evidence from here, and you’d never know, but we’ve always talked about the importance  
of being honest, so… Yeah. There it is.  
_(beat)_  
Anyway, he said that sometimes people just need space, and maybe you have to work this out  
on your own. That maybe I’m… making things worse, in some ways, by trying to rush you  
into feeling better.  
_(clears throat)_  
As you can probably imagine, I didn’t really like hearing that. But now that I’ve had the day  
to calm down a bit… it makes sense, I suppose. Because it was sort of the same with  me, the  
last time we were in Australia, right? Jimmy’s a wise old owl. I told him that, actually, and he  
seemed quite pleased. Didn’t even object to the ‘old’ bit. He said it’s easier to give advice  
than to take it.  
_(beat)_  
So that’s what I’m going to try to do. Give you space. I’ll tell the camera what I can’t say to  
you right now, and hope that eventually… you know, things’ll change.

He takes a deep breath.

STEVE (cont’d)  
When you got hit by that bouncer, last summer… It was one of the worst moments of my life.  
I didn’t know what’d happened, at first. You were crouching down, and I could see Chris calling  
for the physio, but it wasn’t until I caught the replay on a laptop in the dressing room that I saw  
the ball go in through the grille, saw the… the blood, and…

He bows his head. Another deep breath.

STEVE (cont’d)  
When I went to see you in the hospital, that night, you seemed quite cheerful. Although I suppose  
you were on a lot of painkillers, but… you know. You were smiling and tweeting and everything.  
You were even back in for the fifth Test, batting away like nothing had happened, and I thought…  
I thought the whole thing had affected me more than it did you. That I was just overreacting.  
Then you were off having knee surgery, and I was in Sri Lanka, and by the time we finally  
got together again, properly, it was January and… everything was different. Looking back, I should’ve  
guessed. I mean, after December, and Phil Hughes. Well.  
_(long pause)_  
I know… I know it happened… at least once, in Canberra, that I saw. Once in Sydney. Then twice  
that one night, in Brisbane, before the India match. You were reliving it, in your dreams. Having  
nightmares about it. And of course, by Hobart you were barely sleeping at all. Which is why I  
tried to talk to you about it, but of course I pushed you too hard, and the next night...  
_(beat)_  
I understand. I think I do. It’s like Jimmy said. This is your own thing to deal with. With a professional.  
I can’t make you recover at my pace. And if  you’re feeling all guilty about not being happier, for  
my sake, well, that’s… So I’ll wait. As long as you need me to. Because I love you.

CUT TO:

 

**INT. STUART’S HOTEL ROOM, PERTH – NIGHT**

Similar layout to Steve’s and Jimmy’s rooms, but with a copper and beige colour scheme where both of theirs are pale blue and purple. There are hands in the way of the lens; the image wobbles, then stabilises, focused on the bed. Stuart, in jeans and a pink polo shirt, walks into the frame, and sits heavily on rumpled white sheets, on the edge of the bed. The shaven top of his head fits into the shot, just, but his feet and the lower half of his calves are cut off; there is about a foot of space visible to either side of him.

STUART  
Well.  
_(beat)_  
Huh. Where do I start?

He glances away from the lens, at something outside the frame, to the left.

STUART (cont’d)  
I’ve got to start somewhere. You’ll be done in the shower, soon, and I want this to be a surprise  
for you later. Hopefully a good one. So, hi. Hi, Steve. It’s the thirtieth of January, we’re in Perth,  
we won today, and you’re in my shower. I suppose you could say those last two things are related.  
_(his lips quirk)_  
God, that sounded a bit smug, didn’t it? It wasn’t meant to. What I meant to say is that I’m  
having a good day, today. I’ve had a couple of better nights, without… you know. And I’ve  
taken a couple of wickets today. And I’d missed you, so… we had a drink, and here we are. I  
don’t know, maybe it wasn’t a great idea. I might have thought twice about it if I’d seen your  
video first. I might have…  
_(beat)_  
I worked out that you were videoing things a week or so ago. Took me a while, I know. But I’d  
seen you on your phone so much – more than usual – and I’d been hearing people call you  
Spielberg or whatever, and I finally put two and two together on the plane from Brisbane to  
Hobart.  
_(wryly)_  
I didn’t realise the scale of it, though, until I watched it just now. It’s a good job you take  really  
long showers, that’s all I can say.  
_(beat)_  
It’s great. The video’s great. Honestly, it’s… I don’t even know how to describe it.

He turns away for a moment, rubs a hand over his bristly head. When he turns back, his eyes catch the light from the window; there are tears in them.

STUART (cont’d)  
I thought I was fine. I felt fine. But it’s like it… it crept up on me, while I was out. The  
down time, recuperating from the knee op. When I was…  
_(grimaces)_  
…safe. It’s been tough. Especially since I got to Australia. I’ve been dreaming about it. I’ve  
been waking up feeling like I’ve been hit again. I’ve even felt it out in the field, sometimes.  
It’s… really strange, mostly, but it wears you down, after a while. It wears you down. And  
obviously, you know, you think…  
_(beat)_  
I’m sorry I’ve taken it out on you. I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you properly. You mean the  
world to me, and it’s hurt to shut you out. I guess I was worried about looking weak. But  
it’s also like you said… I needed space. I  need space. I can’t promise tomorrow’s  
going to be another good day, or the day after that. I don’t have control over this, not yet.

He looks down, swallows. Back up again.

STUART (cont’d)  
What I can promise is that I’m going to speak to the psych tomorrow. Get something  
regular set up. And I’ll talk to you more. Maybe… maybe space doesn’t have to mean  
isolation. I’m still going to need some nights on my own. But that doesn’t have to mean  
all of them. Because, yeah. I love you, too. I’ve never stopped loving you.

He puts his hands, palms down, on the bed; spreads his fingers and digs them into the sheets.

STUART (cont’d)  
You make me feel safe. This evening reminded me of that.

He looks over to the left, again, and this time he keeps facing that way.

STUART (cont’d)  
Bollocks. I didn’t hear the shower stop. How much did you…?

STEVE (O.S.)  
Enough.

STUART  
Was it… okay? You weren’t supposed to see it, until—

STEVE (O.S.)  
Of course. Of course it was.

Silence, for several moments. Stuart’s face remains turned away from the camera, towards the unseen Steve. The rise and fall of Stuart’s chest is just visible, but nothing more of what is passing between them can be seen.

Finally, there is a sound of movement, and Steve enters the frame. Or rather, Steve’s torso does; his head is not visible, and from the hips down he’s clad in a towel. He clambers awkwardly onto the bed, positioning himself behind Stuart, who cranes his neck to look round at him.

STUART  
_(amused)_  
What are you doing?

Holding his towel very carefully, Steve slides his bare calves and then his thighs to either side of Stuart. Then he wraps an arm around his waist.

STEVE  
Trying to sit down without making the video X-rated.

Stuart smirks, and twists further round, so his chest and shoulders are side-on to Steve, but his hips and knees are still facing the camera. He raises a hand to Steve’s face, strokes his cheek with the backs of his fingers, then cups his jaw. They kiss.

When they are done, Stuart pulls Steve round a little way, so they are both seen in profile. He strokes Steve’s back as he talks.

STUART  
You know, I’m okay with it a bit of X-rated.

STEVE  
_(smiling)_  
Oh really?

STUART  
Yeah. This video’s been pretty one-sided, so far, you know – a lot of my arse in swimming  
shorts, but you’ve been behind the camera for most of it.

STEVE  
That’s because I’m the director. I have very particular interests.

They kiss again, faster this time. Stuart runs a caressing hand along Steve’s thigh, which he then pulls more firmly into his waist. One of Steve’s hands disappears inside Stuart’s shirt, and he leans more heavily into Stuart, tilting him slightly backwards.

STUART  
Interests like this, you mean?

Abruptly, Stuart stands, still facing Steve. His hands, mostly out of shot, move rapidly at his waist, and his jeans suddenly drop to his knees. He pushes down dark grey boxers, and wiggles his arse at the camera. Steve laughs, loudly, rolling from side to side.

STEVE  
God, not you, too… Why’s everyone so fond of mooning my poor camera? Cut!

Steve reaches up, grabs Stuart by both hands, and pulls him down on top of him.

STEVE (cont’d)  
Cut, cut, cut. That’s a wrap.

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't the fic I meant to write. Not even slightly. When I started to get the itch to do some more Brinn, during the Edgbaston Ashes Test this summer, I imagined it'd be centred around Finny's triumphant return to the Test team and the way Broady couldn't leave him alone on the field. I imagined it'd be fluffy and happy. I imagined it'd consist of, you know, paragraphs and complete sentences and things.
> 
> Not so much.
> 
> The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to write something that bridged the (angsty and very ficable) gap between ['An Hour Behind the Summer'](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3351530) and this year's Ashes. It still didn't really click for me, though, until I woke up a few mornings ago with the idea of Finny doing a video diary. From there it basically wrote itself, and less than two days later, I had this. Honestly, I don't even know how it happened. I sincerely hope you could follow what was actually going on, and that you found it even half as much fun* to read as it was to write :D
> 
> (*except during the angsty bits, obvs)
> 
> Full details of the tri-series that forms the backdrop to this fic are [here](http://www.espncricinfo.com/carlton-mid-triangular-series-2015/engine/series/754623.html).
> 
> The fast bowlers' union selfie is [here](http://bibliolicious.tumblr.com/post/108734662135/plumjaffas-lovingcricket-jimmy-some-tired). (I did reblog that image myself at some point, but my tagging system is rubbish and I can't find it for the life of me). Here is another view of _that_ haircut: [Broady looking grumpy in a cinema](http://kutubiyya.tumblr.com/post/108154804057/plumjaffas-plumjaffas-not-a-happy-man-after), with Joe and Titch. Finally, Jimmy's joking, and terrible, attempt to flirt with Finny in the opening scene was inspired by certain photos and footage from the tri-series and the World Cup, which the cricket fam gleefully collated [here](http://bibliolicious.tumblr.com/tagged/fast-bowlers'-love-triangle-anyone%3F).
> 
> Because I never tire of promoting fic I love, some further links, for anyone who hasn't encountered some of the other ships hinted at herein (in some cases verrrry obliquely): If you want to read more of Joe/Jos, see labonnetouche's fic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3345158/chapters/7318121); piranhafish, meanwhile, has [lots of Titch/Hales](http://archiveofourown.org/users/piranhafish/pseuds/piranhafish) for your delectation. No-one has written any Mo/CJ yet, but they totally should... (hint)
> 
> On a more serious note, [here are the details](http://www.espncricinfo.com/england-v-india-2014/engine/match/667717.html) (including links to news coverage) of the Fourth Test against India from last summer, in which Broad was accidentally hit in the face by a short ball from Varun Aaron which deflected off Broad's bat and went through the grille of his helmet. A month after the end of the period covered by this story, Broad talked to the press about the on-going psychological effects of this injury: [see the Cricinfo piece here](http://www.espncricinfo.com/icc-cricket-world-cup-2015/content/story/842583.html).
> 
> Broad's, of course, wasn't the only injury of this nature last year: Somerset wicketkeeper Craig Kieswetter took a similar blow that eventually ended his career because of the on-going eye problems it caused; and Australian batsman Philip Hughes, as we know all too well, tragically died, in December, when a ball struck him on the back of the head. All sports have their risks, but last year was a particularly harsh reminder of that reality for cricket players and fans.


End file.
